Breaking the Chains

Aaron surged forward, his feet barely touching the crumbling ground as he closed the distance between himself and the Ruined Seat. The throne loomed ahead, its massive frame cracked but still pulsing with power. The very air around it hummed with resistance, as if reality itself refused to let it fall.

Behind him, the Remnants moved in eerie unison, their chains writhing like living things. They were relentless—unaffected by pain, undeterred by destruction.

Aaron's eyes narrowed. He didn't have time to deal with them.

He reached out with his power, golden-black energy flaring around him as he hurled a shockwave behind him. The force exploded outward, slamming into the Remnants and sending them skidding across the ruins. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it bought him the precious seconds he needed.

The throne was within reach.

Then—the ground beneath him collapsed.

Aaron's instincts screamed as he plunged downward, rubble and dust swallowing him whole.

For a brief moment, everything was dark.

Then—he hit the ground hard, rolling onto a cold, stone surface. He groaned, quickly regaining his footing.

A deep, ancient whisper echoed through the air.

Aaron exhaled sharply, his golden-black aura lighting up the space. He found himself in an underground chamber—a vast, open expanse filled with chains embedded in the walls. They stretched into the darkness like veins, pulsing faintly with the same sickly glow as the throne above.

"This place…" Aaron muttered.

A voice responded, but it wasn't the Forgotten One.

"You should not have come here."

Aaron spun around, sword raised. A figure stood in the shadows, barely visible through the dim glow of the chains. Its form was vague, shifting, as if it wasn't entirely real.

Aaron didn't lower his guard. "And who the hell are you?"

The figure stepped forward, and Aaron's breath caught.

It was a man—tall, clad in tattered royal robes. His face was obscured, but the weight of his presence was crushing. Power rolled off him in waves, old and overwhelming.

But what truly sent a chill through Aaron was the heavy iron collar around his neck. From it, countless chains extended into the walls, locking him in place.

The man lifted his head slightly.

"You stand in the domain of the first one who defied the Weaver," he said, his voice carrying the weight of ages.

Aaron's fingers tightened around his sword.

"…The first?"

The man nodded. "The first Sovereign. The one who sat upon the throne before it became the Ruined Seat."

Aaron's mind raced. The Sovereign—the ruler of this lost city. The one who had tried to break fate and failed.

Aaron took a step forward. "Then tell me—how do I destroy it?"

A long silence.

Then—the Sovereign laughed softly. It was a bitter sound, filled with regret.

"Foolish child." His gaze bore into Aaron, unreadable yet piercing. "You do not destroy fate. You only choose how you are broken by it."

Aaron's jaw clenched. "We'll see about that."

The chains in the chamber suddenly snapped taut, trembling violently.

The Sovereign exhaled. "Then allow me to test your conviction."

The chains lunged.

Aaron moved.

Golden-black lightning erupted around him as he slashed through the first wave of chains. Sparks flew as metal met his blade, the force sending a shockwave through the chamber.

But the Sovereign didn't move.

More chains shot forward—faster, sharper.

Aaron twisted his body, barely dodging before one of them grazed his shoulder. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth and retaliated, unleashing a burst of energy that shattered several chains outright.

Yet they kept reforming.

The realization hit him like a hammer—just like the Remnants, these chains couldn't be destroyed through raw power alone.

Aaron landed on one knee, breathing hard. "Damn it…"

The Sovereign watched him silently. Then, he spoke again. "Tell me, Aaron Vale… Why do you fight?"

Aaron froze.

It wasn't just a question—it was a weight pressing down on him.

Why?

To survive? To prove himself? To defy whatever force had thrown him into this world?

Aaron didn't know.

And that hesitation cost him.

The chains struck.

One wrapped around his wrist, another around his leg. Then his torso, tightening like iron serpents.

His vision blurred as an unbearable weight crushed down on him. It wasn't just physical—it was his soul being bound.

The Sovereign's voice was quiet. "Without conviction, you will never break fate's hold on you."

Aaron roared.

His golden-black energy surged violently, his rage overriding his doubt. The chains strained against him, cracks forming along their cursed surface.

The Sovereign watched, his unreadable gaze lingering. "…Perhaps you are different after all."

The chains snapped.

The explosion of force sent shockwaves through the chamber. Aaron dropped to one knee, panting heavily, but his eyes blazed with renewed fire.

He looked up at the Sovereign. "I don't need fate to tell me why I fight. I'll decide that myself."

The Sovereign was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Then prove it."

The chamber trembled. The throne above began to crack.

Aaron grinned, tightening his grip on his sword.

This fight wasn't over yet.